


The Shortest Distance

by Skye_Writer



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Writer/pseuds/Skye_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Quorra escaped the Purge.  This is the story of her journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shortest Distance

**Author's Note:**

> This story is largely based off canon as it is presented in the TRON: Legacy film; I have not read TRON: Betrayal or played TRON: Evolution, so I am unfamiliar with the canon backstory as it is presented in those two tie-in products.
> 
> Secondly, as a bit of a writing exercise/personal challenge, I wrote this story in 100-word “drabble” sections. I hope this exercise is effective and interesting.

000001

Quorra walked south. She wasn’t sure where she was going. “Away” seemed to be the best descriptor: away from the games arena, away from Clu’s strongholds, away from the derezzing remains of the Iso colony.

She walked, trying to act inconspicuous. She looked like any other program might, with the telltale mark on her arm concealed. She walked neither quickly nor slowly. She glanced at the programs she passed, but she did not stare or ignore them completely. There was not a suspicious thing about her, she thought, for even programs hurried past the Black Guards stationed at each streetcorner.

000010

A firm hand grabbed her arm above the elbow. She froze on the spot, her mind instantly filling with panic. What had she done wrong? How had she given herself away?

She was pushed into motion again. “Keep walking,” said a voice behind her.

She walked, now fearfully aware of the Black Guard standing at the end of the block. She’d seen firsthand how the Guards handled the Isos: deresolution on the spot, no questions asked.

The program still had a firm grip on her arm. “I’m going to let go,” he said. “Follow me if you want to live.”

000011

How had it come to this? She remembered when she could walk through the city freely, when she didn’t have to fight the urge to look over her shoulder. She remembered when she knew who she could trust, when she had had friends among the Isos and the programs. She remembered the cycles before Clu’s so-called System Purge, before the portal in the east had gone out for good and Flynn had disappeared.

How had it come to this?

She followed the program who had grabbed her arm, not knowing if she should trust him, but hoping that she could.

000100

The program led her to an apartment building halfway up the next block. Its transparent doors opened and admitted them both. She silently followed the program to the row of elevators opposite the doors, and waited behind him as he called one of them down.

The door to one of the elevators opened. The program stepped inside. Quorra hesitated, then stepped in after him. They did not look at one another, or speak to each other.

As the elevator ascended, a klaxon sounded in the street outside, and she gasped as a Recognizer landed in front of the building’s doors.

000101

The horror of the Recognizer’s abrupt arrival repeated itself in her mind, even as the elevator slid silently upwards. It was a raid: the Black Guard elite had been sent to root out dissident programs.

And Isos.

“I was told to look for you by a mutual friend,” the program beside her said.

She looked at him. “Who are you?”

“My name is not important,” he replied, meeting her eyes. “Neither is yours. I am a friend of Zuse.” He paused. “They’ll search here soon, but I can hide you. And then I will help you out of the city.”

000110

A friend of Zuse. It was a phrase that was both meaningless and meaningful. Quorra had known Zuse—it was he who had aided her escape from the city’s heart, where Clu reigned unhindered—but most programs who called themselves a friend of Zuse had never met the program.

But still, it was a phrase that meant something.

It meant: I fought for Flynn when Clu betrayed him. I fought for the Users when Tron disappeared.

It meant: I fight now for the Isos, because no one else will.

It meant: I will not betray you to the Black Guard.

000111

The hiding place was a closet in the program’s apartment. The closet was mostly empty, save for some street clothes hanging from the rail and a few small boxes of file disks piled on the floor. As he showed her the tiny space, he reached up and pulled a different disk off the shelf.

He slid the hexagonal disk into a hidden slot in the wall. There was a shimmer and a flash and—the closet appeared exactly as it was.

“It’s an encryption file,” he explained. “It’ll mask you and the signal you give off.”

“Thank you,” she said.

001000

She crouched in the closet, listening.

There was a distant knock. The hiss of a door opening.

“Can I help you?”

“Program.” The deep, harsh voice of a Black Guard. “You are commanded to temporarily surrender these premises for search and inspection. By the order of Clu. Do you comply?”

“I comply.”

Two pairs of heavy feet. The door hissed again.

The footsteps faded in and out. The distance was by turns reassuring and terrifying. One Guard spoke to the program. The program answered politely, blandly. She stopped trying to listen to the words.

Then the closet door hissed open.

001001

She did not dare move.

She did not dare breathe.

The encryption file worked in one direction: the Guard standing in the doorway could not see her, but she could see him. She stared at him, at the blazing red lines of his circuitry. At the long black staff in his hand, the staff he might in moments use to derezz her, if the file did not do its work.

Every particle of her was tensed into stillness. She did not dare move. She did not dare breathe.

She watched the Black Guard, and hoped the encryption would be enough.

001010

The Guard surveyed the closet silently. Quorra heard three quiet beeps: he was scanning for her. She closed her eyes. She did not want to see her own demise.

A lower beep followed the three. The scan had found nothing.

The Guard crouched, still gripping his staff. Quorra watched in silent terror as he opened one of the file boxes and flipped through the disks.

Any movement, any sound, and she would be dead.

But then the guard closed the box, and stood, and walked away.

The closet door closed, but she did not relax. The Guards were still here.

001011

It was not safe yet. It could still go wrong. She told herself these things, and she did not move.

The program might say the wrong thing, or have an illegal file hidden somewhere, but not hidden well enough. The Guards would find it, and search more closely.

The Guard who had searched the closet might return, and examine the space more closely. She would be found, and it would be over.

She heard them walking around the apartment, asking the program questions. She listened, and she did not move.

It was not safe yet. It could still go wrong.

001100

The door opened again. “They’re gone,” the program said, touching his hand to the wall and pulling out the encryption file. He helped her to her feet.

Quorra gripped his hand tightly. “Thank you,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I would’ve been—“

“It’s nothing,” he said, tossing the disk back on the shelf. “No more than I would do for a fellow program. Come on.”

He led her to the apartment’s front room. “We’ll leave after the Guard have cleared out. You’ll be safe here for now.”

“Thank you,” she said again. “I can’t—thank you so much.”

001101

He gave her two things before they left. The first was a hooded coat. The second was a minor forge for her disc. “It should be enough to get you through checkpoints,” he said. “Anything more would have been harder to hide.”

“I understand.” She pulled on the coat, and handed him her disc so he could apply the forge.

They left together, holding hands as a couple might. The Recognizers were gone, but there still was a nervous hush over the streets.

They walked south. Quorra held his hand tightly. The most dangerous part of the journey had begun.

001110

“To answer your query, yes, I’m running supplies to the Southwest Gate in half a millicycle, but no, I’m not taking on passengers. Do you think I _want_ to get derezzed?”

They were in a tiny room off a narrow alleyway. Quorra stood in the corner, not speaking, watching the program haggle with the burly transport driver.

“I can make it worth the risk.” The program pulled a stack of file disks out of his coat and handed them to the driver.

The driver thumbed through the disks, then looked up at the program. “All right. But you’re both crazy.”

001111

They stood side by side in the transport’s container area as the transport itself sped through the city. They did not speak; there was nothing to speak about.

Quorra closed her eyes and listened to the buzz of the transport and the subtle shifts in its cargo of energy rations and weapons upgrades. The supplies were for the Black Guards stationed at and around the Southwest Gate. The Gate was one of maybe a dozen roads into Quorra’s eventual destination: the Outlands.

After a while, the transport slowed and halted. The driver appeared at the container area’s door. “We’re here.”

010000

It was not illegal for programs to enter the Outlands, even in these times. It was, however, more difficult than it had ever been, for two Black Guards stationed at every Gate inspected those who wished to leave the city.

The driver had dropped them a few blocks away from the Gate. They approached it on foot, Quorra following the program silently, her hood up and her hands clenched.

The Gate was not a gate as such: it was a bridge. Two Guards sat stationed at its start, and watched them as they approached.

One Guard spoke. “Identify yourselves, programs.”

010001

She let him do the talking.

They were searching for energy wellsprings. They would likely return within a millicycle. They were not looking for trouble.

The Guards nodded at this. Then came the command: “Surrender your discs for inspection.”

They complied, handing their discs to the impassive Guard.

The program’s disc was scanned first. It was deemed all clear and returned to him.

He did not mount it on his back, but held it loosely in his hand.

Quorra’s disc was scanned second. It seemed clear, but then there was a loud crack: the forge broke, and her luck ended.

010010

The program reacted before Quorra could even panic. He snatched her disc out of the Guard’s hands and thrust it into her arms with a small something else. “Run!” he shouted. “ _Run!_ ”

She ran. She ran, clutching her disc and the thing he had given her to her chest, not caring that her hood had flown back in her haste, not caring that they might be chasing her even now, not caring that she could be dead in an instant. She heard fighting behind her, but she ran until she had crossed the bridge and entered the Outlands at last.

010011

She turned back at the edge of the Outlands, and almost wished she hadn’t. There was no pursuit, not yet. But the program had not triumphed against the Guards.

He was on his knees, held up by the back of his collar by one of the Guards. The second Guard stood over him, his ignited staff raised.

He swung.

It was over in an instant: deresolution. The program was gone, he was dead, he was nothing but scattered code, and yet she was still alive, shaking as though she herself had been struck.

The Guards turned toward her. She ran.

010100

Quorra ran. She did not know where she was going, or even which direction. She ran over the rocky, uneven landscape, stumbling at times, falling at others. But she could not stop. They were coming.

There were a handful of Guards following her on foot. They would soon be joined by a Recognizer; lightcyles and other land vehicles were useless in the Outlands.

She paused and turned to the landscape behind her. The Guards had not caught up to her yet, but that would not matter when the Recognizer arrived. She would be trapped, and there would be no escape.

010101

She shook them off in a canyon. While they searched for her, the Recognizer rumbling overhead, she rested, huddled in a cave that they would never spot.

She finally looked at the item the program had pressed into her hands. It was a small flask, and when she opened it, the cave lit up with the glitter of liquid energy. _Thank you._ A smile tugged at her lips, but faltered. This was exactly what she needed now, but its cost felt far too great.

She drained the flask little by little. She carried it with her when she moved on.

010110

The canyon ended eventually. The pursuit began anew.

She ran, scrambling over rocks, stumbling down hillsides. She had gained a lead on them after the canyon, but that was almost a millicycle ago, and they were closing in. She was faltering, even after the program’s last gift. Energy didn’t last forever, and the Recognizer’s roar was growing louder behind her.

She tripped running down another hill, and fell. She struggled to stand, but she couldn’t go on. They were too close now.

As the Recognize bore down on her, she stood unflinching, her head held high and her expression defiant.

010111

The Recognizer landed, and three Guards stepped out, all wielding staffs. They did not speak to her; she did not speak to them. She gripped the empty flask more tightly as they surrounded her. She closed her eyes, and she heard them in unison ignite their staffs.

“On your knees!” A Guard behind her struck the back of her legs.

She fell to her knees, her cry nothing more than a gasp. The flask flew out of her hand and tumbled to the ground. She looked up and saw a Guard above her, his staff raised.

This was the end.

011000

She had been prepared for this from the start. Since the day that, by luck or chance, she had been in the city when Clu destroyed the Iso colony, the day it had been proclaimed throughout the city that the Isos were a threat that needed to be stamped out swiftly and without hesitation. She had prepared herself to some degree, while still desperately hoping that she could escape somehow.

She raised her head, taking in the Guard in front of her.

The end of his staff glowed with deadly energy.

It was happening now.

She was going to die.

011001

She stared at the ignited end of the staff, and it seemed that everything else faded away. She was in a world of blackness, lit only by this evil scarlet. This was the way her world would end. Without light, without friends, without hope.

She wondered how the program had faced it. If he had looked up as she looked up now. If he had risked a look across the Gate, and seen her standing on the border. She wondered if he had felt peace.

She wondered if he had accepted his death.

She silently prepared to accept her own.

011010

There was a sudden sound, but it was not a sound. It was the removal of sound: the creation of silence.

Quorra saw nothing. The scarlet was gone; the blackness remained. She was aware that she was swaying on the spot. She was aware that she was coming to the very end of her strength. The Guards had not killed her yet, but that hardly mattered: she was dying anyway. She would do their work for them.

The sudden silence ended. There was a voice.

And a hand, grabbing her shoulder.

And she looked up and saw the Creator’s face.

011011

She woke in a white room, alone. She lay on a soft bed. All was silent.

She lay motionless for a while, staring at the white ceiling, listening to the hum of the silence. She closed her eyes, but she did not drift back to unconsciousness. She listened to the silence, and she thought of the silence of her journey’s end.

 _He didn’t speak to her much; she didn’t feel much like speaking. She stumbled over the rough landscape, still weak, still weary. He supported her with an arm around her shoulders. She could do nothing but feel endlessly grateful._

011100

She climbed out of the bed when she felt she was able. Her body ached all over, but she could stand and she could walk, even if she sometimes felt unsteady. She left the room and walked down the dark hallway, occasionally putting her hand to the rough wall for balance.

The hallway ended on a sharp turn and three short steps, opening on a vast white room. Quorra went up the steps but paused just inside the room, leaning against the wall. The room was mostly empty; it held a lightcycle, some chairs, a table, and a man: Flynn.

011101

He stood at the table, gazing in deepest concentration at some glowing piece of code in his hands.

Quorra watched him silently. She had seen him before around the city, in the cycles before Clu’s betrayal, but it was still difficult not to hold him in awe. He was the Creator; if he hadn’t made this world, the Isos would not exist.

And if he had not intervened in the Outlands, she would not be alive.

Flynn paused in his work. He clasped his hands around the code and straightened up. And then he turned and looked directly at Quorra.

011110

Quorra immediately turned away, and tried to step back the way she’d come. Her foot lost its purchase on the edge of the first step, though, and it was only her grip on the wall that kept her from tumbling to the floor.

Flynn hurried over. “Easy,” he said, taking her free hand and helping her straighten up. “Don’t overdo it, all right?” He was smiling.

Quorra nodded, and pulled her hand away. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“No problem.” There was a silence. “I’m Flynn,” he said, holding out his hand.

 _I know_ , she didn’t say.

“Quorra,” she replied.

011111

She sat in one of the chairs, staring into the bottom of the glass of energy he’d given her. The glass was nearly empty, but what was left glittered brightly. She moved the glass occasionally, watching how the light shifted and played off her fingers.

Flynn had asked her a few questions at first, but after a while returned to his work at the table.

Quorra glanced at him. “Thank you,” she said again.

He turned to look at her.

“For saving my life,” she went on. “I just… I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling.

100000

He set his work aside and joined her, sitting in one of the nearby chairs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” She didn’t look at him; she stared into the bottom of her glass. “Still tired, but… better.”

“That’s good.”

Silence. She did not look up at him.

He asked, “How’d you end up out here?”

She looked up and said, as though it explained everything, “The Purge.”

The kind, curious expression on his face melted away, replaced with a restrained shock. “You’re an Iso?”

“Yes.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked back at the dregs of energy in her glass.

100001

She told him, haltingly, how she had escaped the city. Of her escape from downtown, of the program’s great kindness, of her pursuit across the Outlands. He listened, occasionally asking her questions but otherwise politely silent, even when she found herself unable to continue for long periods.

When she finished, he looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought… damn.” He sighed. “I thought he’d killed them all. After he destroyed the colony…”

She did not need to ask who “he” was. “I don’t think there are many of us left.”

His next words came as a blow: “You’re probably the only one.”

100010

“You’re probably the only one.”

It was a fact that she had hoped was not true. Not all the Isos had perished in the destruction of the colony; it was why Clu had resorted to the raids.

She had met some of her fellows following the colony’s destruction. They had agreed to split up, to find some way out, and send word to the others if they succeeded.

They had gone their separate ways. She never heard from any of them again. She hoped that it was simply too dangerous to send word.

She knew that that was a lie.

100011

She did not want to speak; she almost did not want to think. To think, and in thinking acknowledge that Clu had won. The Isos had been eradicated.

 _You’re probably the only one._

She could not look at Flynn, though she knew his face was full of sorrow. She could feel his gaze on her, but she could not meet it. She stared into the bottom of her glass, trying not to think.

 _You’re probably the only one._

She heard Flynn stand. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she knew that he meant it.

100100

Time passed. Quorra recovered from her run across the Outlands, but she still had not recovered from the news: _you’re probably the only one._

She kept to herself, save when Flynn sought her out and made conversation. He usually spoke more than she did; she let him. He rambled about the hopes he’d had in the Users’ world, about what he’d tried and failed to do in the conflict with Clu. He sometimes talked, quietly and with a small smile on his face, about his son, Sam.

Quorra listened, saying nothing.

And then one day, Flynn handed her a book.

100101

“Thought you might want something to take your mind off things,” he said. “Just ask if you get confused about anything.”

She nodded, and he went back to his work.

Quorra examined the book closely, running her fingers over the ornately decorated cover. She opened it, and slowly turned the pages, which were made out of a material she had never encountered before.

Then she found the first words.

 _  
_

_AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS  
by  
JULES VERNE_

 _  
_

She read this over a few times, then turned the page.

 _Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row…_

100110

Reading the book took longer than she anticipated, for she found herself stopping every few paragraphs to ask Flynn a question. His answers were usually succinct enough that she could continue reading immediately; but he would sometimes begin speaking at length, and she would find herself asking more questions, and listening as he answered.

When she finished the first book, Flynn told her she was welcome to read the others he had. She pulled another book off the shelf; the process repeated.

The books only did so much to ease her grief in those early cycles, but it was enough.

100111

She thought sometimes of the program. She had never learned his name, and that haunted her for some reason. She wished that she had gotten it out of him at some point in their journey, so she would have had _some_ token of him. A name to put to his face, so she could think of him and say more than, “This program saved me from the Purge.”

She had abandoned the coat in the Outlands; she could only assume his flask had met the same fate, in the chaos of Flynn’s rescue.

And she had never learned his name.

 **  
**

**END OF LINE.**

 **  
**


End file.
